


the sunlight through the flags

by lawful_feral_merit



Series: isn't that what time is for? [1]
Category: The Last Kingdom (TV)
Genre: Aftermath of Torture, Canon-Typical Violence, Character Study, Found Family, Gen, Minor Character Death, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Relationship Study, S2E3 Coda, and how so many of them have parallels but experience them so differently and what that FEELS like, listen I just want to talk about these assholes and how their dynamics are so fantastically unique
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-29
Updated: 2020-08-07
Packaged: 2021-03-03 03:54:32
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,712
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24438508
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lawful_feral_merit/pseuds/lawful_feral_merit
Summary: "Did you believe we would abandon you?"His words were soft and tender, and they cut Uhtred to his soul. His grief was immediate, his mourning desperate and frantic as the reality of what he has lost and what he might still lose crashed around him. Ragnar's strength was all that kept him from crumbling, all that allowed him to see Finan slide a sword through Sverri's throat; that moment took the air from his lungs.It wasn't enough, it would never be enough.---An exploration on how grief and trauma impacts us all differently, and how we find ways to survive it together.
Relationships: Finan & Uhtred of Bebbanburg, Gisela/Uhtred of Bebbanburg, Ragnar the Younger & Uhtred of Bebbanburg
Series: isn't that what time is for? [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1764937
Comments: 18
Kudos: 55





	1. I chase my blood from brain to thumped heart

**Author's Note:**

  * For [WilderMind](https://archiveofourown.org/users/WilderMind/gifts).



“Finan…” 

Osbert’s voice is barely more than a whisper but it cuts through the din of the skirmish; Finan does nothing to resist, stumbling back from the sack of shit that was once Sverri.

Part of him thinks he should hesitate- he doesn’t know these men or their intentions; but they seem to know Osbert, and care for him, so he doesn’t pause. He slots himself against Osbert’s left side, with the warrior- Ragnar, he thinks- moving to support the right side. They move him away from the carnage, to where some of the men have started to make camp. 

Osbert is barely upright, and nothing seems to breach the fog of his pain. The sounds of men moving around him, the wind whipping his hair across his face- nothing reaches him. 

The men have questions for Ragnar; he looks to Finan, to the woman who rode with them, and nods as he goes to scout the area. Finan hopes that it is acceptance, but it’s hard to know, and he has no idea of what his place is meant to be.

“You are… Finan?” The woman asks, her voice soft, her hand on Osbert’s shoulder.

He clears his throat before answering, “Yes, Lady. I was- we were-”

“I am Hild,” She offers, giving him a chance to collect his words. “I am one of Uhtred’s followers.”

That name, again. “He is- what do you call him, Lady?”

Hild steps closer, her voice even softer as she speaks, “The name he was called, Osbert, is not his name. He is Uhtred, of Bebbanburg.”

Finan glances towards the leader of the men. “And that man is-?”

“Ragnar the Younger,” Hild answers. “Uhtred’s brother.”

Finan has more questions- why does a Dane lead Saxon warriors, why is she with them?

His words dissolve when she asks, voice barely a whisper, “Do you know a man named Halig?”

“...Forgive me, Lady, I do.” 

The ship is close enough that Halig’s pale figure is visible against the darkness of the wood, but not so close that Finan can see the lifelessness of his face. When Hild follows his gaze, she presses a shaking hand to her lips, the shock pulling all color from her cheeks.

One of the Saxon warriors approaches, his own eyes fixed on the ship. 

“Sister Hild,” His voice is steady, low, “Is that-?”

“Yes, Steapa,” She stops him, her hand tightening on Uhtred’s shoulder. “I believe it is. Can you- would you and Ragnar-?”

Finan clears his throat again. “I will help, Lady. I would be honored.”

She nods at him, glances down at Uhtred, and says, “Thank you, Finan.”

The warrior, Steapa, gives a sweeping _after you_ gesture. Finan tries to hide the clumsiness of limbs too long at sea, his legs heavy and weak. Their pace is slow, but he manages to get to the shore without crashing over.

Finan is not sure he can bring himself to climb back onto the ship, and thankfully Steapa doesn’t ask him to. Instead, he swings himself up, waiting until Finan is ready before cutting the lines. It is an artless thing, and he wishes there was a way to release Halig with more dignity, but they do their best as they carry him away from the sea. 

Ragnar finds them as they crest a hill, his face dark. “We will not bury the men who did this.”

“He was Uhtred’s man,” Steapa answers. “We cannot let his loyalty end in damnation.”

Softness creeps into Ragnar’s face, and he gives a nod of permission. They lay Halig down, and Steapa goes back towards the camp to find a tool for digging. 

Ragnar asks quietly, “What was his name?”

“Halig, Lord.” Finan hears Uhtred’s voice in his head as he says, “He was a warrior.”

A pause, then Ragnar decides, “He will be buried with a shield and sword. As a warrior.”

“Thank you.” 

Finan is surprised at the words he speaks, but he feels something ease in his chest. There was nothing he could do to protect Halig while they were on the ship; to be able to give some part of him back to himself, even in death, is a balm. 

Steapa returns, bringing with him cloth for the body and a spade. Ragnar accepts the task of digging while Finan and Steapa wrap Halig against the chill of death. Ragnar goes back to the camp and returns with a sword and shield to nestle in the grave once they’ve laid Halig to rest.

They return to Hild and Uhtred; it is clear that he is still unresponsive, so Hild goes with Steapa to the grave to pray for him. Ragnar tends the fire, minds the meal that had been cooking while they worked. Finan’s bones feel heavy as he finally rests, and the smell of the food is almost familiar, like a dream of a memory. His mind drifts, though he doesn’t sleep.

It feels like hours later when Uhtred speaks, his voice cracking around the name, “Halig.”

Finan snaps alert, almost disoriented for a moment, but Ragnar is the one to answer, explaining that he’d been laid to rest, with shield and sword. When Uhtred continues with orders for Hild to say words over him, Finan is surprised; there is already a change coming over him.

Ragnar tries to draw him out, mentioning names that are meant to carry weight. Finan knows of Alfred, even in Irland; he knows something of Guthred and Aelfric- enough to hate them. 

He can see Uhtred is not ready to speak, so Finan offers, “You’re- Uhtred’s brother?”

The name is strange on his tongue, but he thinks he’ll grow to like it.

“I am ,” Ragnar says, turning to look at him, almost a challenge.

Finan tries for a grin. “You look nothing like each other.”

Hild chuckles, as does Steapa behind her; Ragnar’s smile is reserved, but grateful, and Finan lets his shoulders ease just a touch more.

As she offers a bowl of stew, Hild chides, “Uhtred, you should eat.” 

While his eyes track the movement, Uhtred gives no indication that he means to accept. 

She waits only a moment before changing tactics, instead extending the offer elsewhere, “Finan?”

“Oh, we will eat, Lady,” He assures her, curling his body around itself, “But our tummies are small, and our feet have _barely_ touched dry land.” 

He glances quickly to Uhtred as he adds, “It will take a little time to find them.”

Ragnar tilts his head for a moment, then asks, “Are _you_ his brother?” 

“We are-” 

Finan pauses for a moment, dropping his eyes, searching for a word that feels true. Can he put a name to what they are? Can he speak for him in this moment, has he any right?

“We are bound, I would say.”

When he lifts his eyes, for a moment they meet Uhtred's, just long enough for him to be sure.

Steapa takes a moment to ask about the camp, about the watch, and he and Ragnar discuss how the night will proceed. There seems to be an agreement that they will not break camp until Uhtred is strong enough to ride, though neither says as much. It’s when Hild asks about the plan for the dead traders that Uhtred seems to have had enough.

He stands with the heaviness that comes from being at rest too long after being at work for too long. The chatter stops, but before any of them can offer a hand or ask what is wrong, he waves a hand and shambles away from the light of the fire, disappearing in the rolling heather.

The group is completely still, unsure of what to do, when Finan stands as well, just as heavy but not quite as clumsy. “I’ll find where he beds down.”

“Finan,” Hild tries to plead, but he levels her with a look that cannot be argued with.

Ragnar nods, adds, “I will keep the fire for a while.”

It doesn’t take long to find Uhtred, far enough from the camp that there is no sound of chatter over the gentle rush of water on the shore. He has crumbled, free to let his guard down, and it’s clear to Finan that Uhtred is starting to process what's happened.

Finan sits next to him, their shoulders pressed together, as they had in so many quiet moments on the ship. Uhtred shivers, not from the cold, and he takes a deep breath before speaking.

“A part of me is still there.”

Finan nods, leaning a little closer against Uhtred’s shoulder. “What part?”

“I do not know.” Uhtred’s voice shakes. “I am afraid to find out.”

Finan realizes he doesn’t know Uhtred. He knows the idea of the man who was condemned to the sea. He knows what he was to Halig, he is learning who he is to Hild, to Ragnar. He isn’t sure he has the answer to this question, he isn't even sure what to ask, but he wants to try.

He moves to bracket Uhtred’s body with his own, his chest to Uhtred’s back, his legs stretched out on either side. Finan’s arms encircle Uhtred’s shoulders, pulling him close.

“Leave Osbert on the ship,” He murmurs, feeling the way Uhtred tenses at the name. “The part of you who was taken from your home, the part who had no control- that is the part you never have to carry again. We leave it here and we never come back for it.”

The tension leaves, but in its place is stifled, ragged sobs. Finan worries that he’s misstepped, that he has mangled more than mended, but then he feels Uhtred’s hands on his own, hanging onto the arms around him like it was the only thing to keep him from drowning. 

He holds a little tighter, and promises Uhtred all the time he needs to mourn.

Time creeps on with only the wind in the trees and the sound of the sea as proof that they are still in the world. Finan feels the sobs soften slowly to nothing, Uhtred’s breathing settling to a low, quiet thrum. When he is sure that Uhtred has finally given way to sleep, he stretches him out in the cover of the heather and makes his way back to camp.

Ragnar is still keeping the fire; he looks up as Finan approaches, then looks behind, concern crawling over his face as he doesn’t see Uhtred.

“He is sleeping,” Finan soothes, taking a seat by the fire. “Your scouts will see anyone approaching before they find him.”

The words have their intended effect, and Ragnar settles. “Thank you. Will you eat?”

“I will try,” Finan says, picking up the bowl that was left for him and filling it. 

Finan takes a mouthful of the stew, and he feels a warmth he never thought he’d know again. His body goes completely lax, and he sprawls on the ground to continue his meal. He realizes Ragnar is watching him, and rather than being sheepish, he just grins.

“Should you not be sleeping, Lord Ragnar?”

Ragnar chuckles a bit. “Soon. I was beginning to worry that you could not find him.”

“Lucky for us,” Finan says, having another bite, “He’s not of a mind to wander.”

Ragnar makes a face that tells Finan this is unusual for Uhtred. Then he asks, “Did you sleep?”

Finan shakes his head, “No, but- sleep was hard to find on the seas. I think it will be some time before it is easy again. And I am happy enough to keep watch.”

It is almost true. Sleep was certainly not easily found on Sverri's ship, between the pitch of the waves from storms and the crack of the whip as they were roused to row once more. Still, Finan has no doubt he could find sleep if he tried; if he learned nothing else in that Hell, it was to take every opportunity to escape into dreams.

But things are different now. Sleep has been anything but an escape since their attempt to run, since they lost Halig, since he nearly lost Uhtred.

He worries about what awaits him there, in the dark. 

“You’re Irish,” Ragnar observes.

Finan, startled from his thoughts, knows well the opinions of most about Irland; he nods.

“And a warrior?” 

“I like to think so,” Finan answers, adding with perhaps more cheek than he should, "Though I'm certainly not at my best just now."

Ragnar doesn’t seem to mind, as he continues to, “And Uhtred- you plan to travel with him?”

This makes him hesitate, for just a moment. There had been no doubt in his mind that he would follow Uhtred once they were freed, and that didn’t change when their attempt failed. But if Uhtred cannot- if seeing Finan only reminds him of the ship-

Finan sighs. “Lord, if Uhtred will have me- I mean to make my home wherever he leads.”

Ragnar nods, more to himself it seems than to Finan, as he stands. He walks off into the dark and Finan thinks he should be more concerned about it, but the stew has done a fine job of soothing his nerves. Before long, Ragnar returns with a bundle under each arm.

Both land at Finan’s side. The question of _why_ must show on his face.

“Furs, for sleeping,” Ragnar explains, pushing the toe of his boot into one bundle, before moving to the other, “And you’ll need to look the part, if you mean to be a warrior.”

Finan looks more closely and can see that it is a set of clothes- a leather vest, wool pants, boots of his own. He presses a hand to the furs, and they are thick and soft, reflecting his own heat back into his palm.

“I don’t-” 

_I don’t deserve this,_ he tries to say. 

_I don’t know what to do,_ he tries to say.

_I don’t know who to be_ , he tries to say.

But Ragnar just walks past him, saying over his shoulder, “I need to piss. You should look for sleep, see if it finds you.”

And then he is gone.

Finan pauses for a moment, then realizes he is right. He finds a place, just outside of the camp but within sight, and unrolls the furs. He wonders if they belonged to the slaver at the port, if they were bought for the price of men like him, like Uhtred, like Halig. He wonders if he will leave part of himself here, with Halig, with Osbert.

Sleep finds him there, lures him gently down into the dark. And the only thing he finds there is peace.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you made it this far, thanks for reading! 
> 
> I'm excited to start sharing works in this fandom, because it's literally all I can think about these days. The proof is in the pudding, which is to say that my first idea was a scene set in the fourth season but in order to justify that, I realized I needed to go back to the second season and start here. So here we are!
> 
> A little more on this particular work: what really struck me in S2E3+4 was how readily and easily Finan adapted to being a person again. I made the assumption that he had been on Sverri's ship longer than Uhtred and Halig, so this was kind of odd to me. So I'm using this as an opportunity to explore the idea that everyone processes trauma differently, and really sink my teeth into seeing how Uhtred's journey through mourning and healing looks different to Finan's. 
> 
> I'm not sure if this is going to shake out to be three- or four chapters, but we'll see how it goes. I want to cover more of the missing scenes in these two episodes, as well as dip into the three years spent settling in Coccham. 
> 
> Big shout out to Ames, who was the first- and is pretty much the only- person I know who is also interested in this series, and who puts up with my rambling ideas and encouraged me to actually make a thing about it.


	2. these accidents of faith and nature

The world comes back to him slowly, so slowly he thinks he might miss it altogether. 

He can almost hear the sea, he thinks; but after a moment, he realizes it’s the wind drifting through the grass around him, brushing the long stalks against themselves in a hushed chorus of whispers. There is no smell of salt on the air, just the sweetness of the earth beneath him. He can feel the sun on his face, the pulse of the earth against his back as he breathes, a gentle thrum of, _Uh-tred, Uh-tred, Uh-tred._

His name. His name, again.

When he finally opens his eyes, the world does not bleed away to the grey and cold of the ship, a mere dream of a memory that is land. The sun casts a warm, golden glow over the world, beckoning him towards home. The grass drifts over him, unbothered by his intrusion, softer to the touch than he ever remembers it being. His eyes drift closed for a moment, listening.

_Uh-tred. Uh-tred. Uh-tred._

Footsteps.

He doesn't stir. He has no strength to fight, and if Odin has decided he will die here, he hopes he has earned a place in the Great Hall. After a few moments, the footsteps stop; it is not a valkyrie who appears but Hild, her arms laden with supplies.

"Up," She urges gently. "You've been asleep for a day or more."

He sighs, bracing to lift his body from the ground. But after knowing rest for the first time in what could only be months but feels like an eternity, his arms struggle to hold him, shivering under what remains of his now fragile frame.

Immediately, he feels Hild’s hands on him. Panic rises in his chest, and he shakes away from her.

There is a moment that stretches on before Uhtred manages, “I can do it.”

She does not scold him, her patience ever present, a constant he had not realized had grown familiar in their time together. When he has finally brought himself upright, she reaches into her pail with a cloth, intending to wash the stench of despair from his skin. She reaches out, hesitates.

He cannot stop himself from thinking, _I must truly be wretched, for even Hild to fear me._

“Take off your clothes.” Her voice is still soft, resigned, resilient.

It is his turn to hesitate; he can feel his body, tense and aching, not just from months at work on the sea but from the persistent fear that has grown in him. He looks towards her, not quite at her, and finds he cannot force himself to obey her. 

Hild presses the flat of her hand to his shoulder; the touch is warm and gentle, and with the slightest of pressure she turns his back to her. He hears her pull something from her supplies, and a moment later hears the tell-tale sound of fabric being cut. He tries to lose himself, tries to pull away from the moment, knowing what she will see.

But Uhtred can feel her eyes on his flesh, the long pale scars where he was lashed and whipped, a penance paid for clinging to his name, his destiny, his rage and his desperation to return home and reclaim what he has lost. 

_And all this is nothing_ , he thinks, _compared to what Halig paid for my pride._

He hopes Hild will understand now, the beast that he became.

Then, without a word, without a sound, she sets to work, her hand pressing the cloth over his back, pulling back the layers of pain and desperation. At some point she moves him, cleaning his shoulders, his chest. He can almost feel the cracks in his soul piecing back together, and finds himself lulled nearly back to sleep

After what feels like moments and months all at once, Hild is finished, and pulls her hands away entirely. The spell is broken, and before long Uhtred is shivering, feeling exposed and uncertain. As if reading his very thoughts, Hild helps him back into the scraps of his shirt; the difference is minimal but it is enough to steady him as she turns her attention to his hair, pulling him free.

Uhtred cannot meet her gaze at her as she works. He is afraid to see himself reflected there. The closest he comes is to find the form of her faith- one they once shared. The weight of the crucifix in his hand, the almost softness of the wood against his calloused fingers.

Of course, she notices. As she tucks her tools away, Hild murmurs, “You’ve not looked me in the eyes, not once.”

He does not rise to the bait, much as he would like to. He casts his eyes to the side and manages to answer, his voice a crackling whisper, like wind through the leaves of autumn. 

“I am ashamed of what I became.”

Hild does not answer him at first, instead turning away, and he begins to worry that she thinks he has good reason for shame. But then she is unwrapping the last of what she brought- and there, carefully guarded, is Serpent’s Breath, safe and sound.

He lifts the blade from her resting place, hands shaking, fingertips tracing the almost imperceptible twists and curls hidden in the blade.

“You are Uhtred, son of Uhtred, lord of Bebbanburg.” Hild’s voice is soft, but fierce, certain in a way that he thinks he once was. “It’s time you remember that.”

He swallows, his throat suddenly thick with emotion. Daring to glance at her face, he offers, “You kept the blade sharp.”

With an indulgent smile, Hild answers, “I knew you’d return.”

A sound escapes him, not quite a chuckle but almost. He holds the blade aloft, and is surprised to find, “She is heavier than I remember.”

Even so, he feels something shaking loose in his chest, some primal ache to reclaim what he has lost, what has been taken from him, starting here, starting now.

But first, “How did Alfred come to know of my fate? You?”

It is Hild’s turn to drop her gaze, that smile taking a note of almost bashfulness. How could he have doubted who was responsible for his rescue?

“I will not forget.” Uhtred tries to sound as certain as he feels. “You will always have my protection.”

Her voice softens to respond, “I could not ask for more. And this- “ 

From the pouch at her side, she brings another offering, this one small and delicate. A cross, finely made, not of wood but of silver.

“This is my gift to you.” She watches as he accepts it, turning it over in his hands. “Protection.”

Uhtred wonders how long she has carried this, wonders if she has prayed over it for his sake, wonders if she has made some bargain with her God for his safe return. 

He looks at her again, and dares to press his palm to her cheek, manages a grin. “You are too good a woman for God alone.”

She laughs, a desperate exhalation of relief. “Uhtred- it _is_ you.”

He murmurs an agreement, but falls still as she reaches out to return the touch. The beast in his chest rumbles in contentment, breaks free from the fear of sullying one of the best people he has ever known, and when she pulls him close he collapses willingly, pressing their foreheads together, sharing air and knowing that, for now, he is safe, and before long, he will be home.

Hild means to guide him back to camp, but Uhtred waves her off. He promises he will not lose his way in the sea of grass, but means to take his time getting his legs under him. She does not fight him on this, and suggests that he might return before dark so he can properly eat.

The sound of his laughter is enough to settle her on her way back.

Serpent’s Breath rests in his hand, a memory, a promise. Hild, ever prepared, had brought fresh clothes for him, including his belt and sheath. It takes some time to wrest his limbs free from the tatters of his time as a slave, but he manages to do it alone. Somewhere in the layers of wool and linen he starts to feel like a man again, and by the time he has returned his sword to her place, he is ready to return to camp and face whatever Fate has in store for him.

The sun has set as he approaches the camp, sounds of men drifting to greet him. Uhtred realizes he doesn’t remember the layout from the night before; glancing through the remnants of the trading post, he tries to spot Hild, or Ragnar, or-

“So you’re not lost.”

Uhtred turns, hand going to his sword out of reflex. It takes him more than a moment to find the source of the words, and moments longer to recognize him.

“Finan?”

He’s answered with a grin, and that makes all the difference. It’s clear that Finan has not spent his day asleep, but rather acclimating to life on land again. His stride is smooth, if heavy, as he approaches, and when he comes to a stop, Uhtred is able to take in the whole sight of Finan, and he finds he has to laugh.

“You look as a Dane!” He exclaims, grabbing Finan by the shoulders of his leather jerkin and giving him a bit of a shake. 

Finan chuckles in response, his own hands wrapping around Uhtred’s. “Well, you can thank Ragnar for that. I imagine he was worried about his brother’s reputation, traveling with a ragged Irishman.”

“I should have guessed,” Uhtred rolls his eyes a bit. “Better Irish than Saxon.”

Finan agrees, “Certainly can’t be worse.”

Uhtred laughs again, softer this time, releasing Finan and stepping back for another look. It astonishes him, the change that has come over Finan in the brief time since their release. He can only imagine his own transformation is just as striking, judging from the look on Finan’s face- what a pair they must make, two beasts of burden, learning to be men again.

“You must be hungry,” Finan manages, his voice almost tender. “I don’t know what Sister Hild has put into the stew, but I am a changed man.”

“She has her ways,” Uhtred agrees, and as the words roll off his tongue he realizes just how right Finan is. “Where is she?”

With a guiding gesture, Finan begins to lead him back to the fire. “She will be pleased that you’ve returned. I can’t say who has been more nervous, she or the big brute with her.”

“Steapa is a friend,” Uhtred chides, though he cannot help but smile. “He is Alfred’s man, we have been to battle together. He is slow, but… sturdy.”

Finan barks out a laugh at that. “I can imagine. Still, seems like he means to keep you alive.”

“No doubt by order of Alfred.” Uhtred’s steps slow, and he sighs. “And since he never does anything that doesn’t benefit him, I’m sure the cost is yet to come.”

The thread unravels in his brain, pulled by the Norns to ends unknown. He wonders if the spinners will ever allow him to fulfill his own destiny, or if he would always be a tool in the hand of the Christian God to aid Alfred in his. He wonders if Christ himself wrestles Odin and Freyr for his soul, if the restlessness that has already started to make a home in his bones is from the turmoil of divine hands grasping at the very strings of his fate.

When a hand that falls on his shoulder, it is not divine, but the comfort Finan offers is just as profound. “Whatever the cost, you have paid it. If there is a balance, let Guthred take it up.”

Uhtred finds that comfort hard to swallow around the lump in his throat, but he tries. He lets the warmth of Finan’s hand unweave the tension in his shoulders, trying to find the words to explain the fears that live within him now, fears he doesn’t have names for but knows well.

“Hey.” 

The hand tightens, gives him a little shake, drawing Uhtred’s eyes into focus. The certainty on Finan’s face startles Uhtred for a moment; he has no right to be so sure, when they have only been men for a matter of days. But there he is, seemingly unshaken as he speaks.

“You made it through the night.” Finan sighs, adding, “It’s not much, but it’s all we had before, and it will be enough for now. We’ll make it through this night, and the next, and the next. And if- Alfred or God or Fate puts something else in your path, we’ll make it through that, too.”

Uhtred doesn’t look away from Finan, from the words that sound somewhere between a promise and a prayer. As if this pledge is meant to protect himself as well as Uhtred, as if this was how he ensured his own survival.

Pressing his own hand to Finan’s shoulder, a mirror of his comfort, Uhtred swears, “Together.”

He feels as much as sees some hidden tension drain from Finan’s body, telling Uhtred that he had been correct. There had never been a decision on what would happen once they’d escaped Sverri- he and Halig would return to Cumberland, obviously, but Finan’s journey was always forward, never back to what he left behind in Irland. 

Forward, then. Together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And it only took me two months to post an update.
> 
> Thanks to everyone who left comments and encouragement. I was in training for a job in June that ended up not even remotely working out, and the rest of July was recovering from that, so I'm hoping to get another chapter up in a shorter turn-around time. 
> 
> I thought this chapter would focus more on the conversation between Uhtred and Finan, but I'm really happy with how the interactions with Hild and Uhtred went; it was necessary to find my footing in Uhtred's space, and I'm excited to write the next chapter in a way that more blends the viewpoints of the two. Stay safe, everyone.


End file.
